MIA
by obeytherandomness
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a blind genius and Doctor John Watson is his boyfriend. But when John goes MIA after being drafted into the war, Sherlock will do anything to get him back. This is a Johnlock story.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Sherlock

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"Oh hello dearie," Mrs. Hudson said as the door opened.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," the man at the door, a short man with a knitted jumper, said as he turned and closed the door. "How are you doing?"

"Oh I'm fine dearie," Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Have you come to visit Sherlock? He'll be glad you're here."

"Yes," the man answered just as he always did. Mrs. Hudson was a nice person, but she was nowhere near as interesting as the blind genius that he wanted to visit. Besides Sherlock was his best friend. He could never go into his house without even saying hello. And, because this is Sherlock we're talking about, he never got away with just a hello either. Not that he really wanted to. Ever since the first time that he came into the house to check on the blind genius's eyes, he has been captivated with him. That captivation soon turned to love and he asked Sherlock on a date. Of course Sherlock declined, he didn't want to go out on a date when he was blind, but he compromised with a night together without Mrs. Hudson in the house. He said that he loved the man soon after, but Sherlock has never returned the sentiment. He doesn't need him to, though. He knew from the very beginning that Sherlock would probably never love him. He was just content with being with him.

Ever since that first night together, he came every day to talk to his blind genius, but now it was all going to change.

"Well if you'll just follow me dearie," she said happily. "He's just upstairs laying on the couch."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," he smiled gratefully.

Of course, Sherlock was no longer on the couch when they reached the top of the stairs. Instead, he was at the door throwing it open the moment the two of them conquered the last step. "Well if it isn't Doctor John Watson," he smirked from his perch. He always took delight in surprising people like this and it was even more fun to surprise John because John was used to it and, therefore, harder to surprise.

"My goodness Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson gasped as she put her hand against her heart. Even though she had spent more time with Sherlock, being his caretaker, she would never get used to his surprises. "You're going to give a woman a heart attack one of these days."

"John," Sherlock completely ignored Mrs. Hudson and she took that as her cue to go. Sherlock reached out his hand, the hand not holding the stick that helped him walk, and John took it in his own and held it up to his face. From there Sherlock mapped out every inch of John's face just like he did every time they met. One time John had asked why he did it since he must have memorized John's face by then, but Sherlock had simply responded that there was always something that he could feel on John's face that told him how he was feeling. Apparently he didn't like what the face told him this time because he frowned and let his hand drop to his side. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing Sherlock," John responded, hoping that his voice didn't betray that what was wrong was most definitely not something. Knowing that it probably did, he chose instead to go onto another topic. "I wanted to talk to you about a procedure I heard about."

Sherlock's face immediately turned into a scowl. "I told you I'm done with all of that," he hissed.

"Why not?" John asked. "You used to want so badly to see and now it's just like you've given up."

"I'm just being logical," Sherlock answered in his I'm-totally-smarter-than-you way. "It will never happen. It's not possible."

"You don't know that Sherlock," John tried to press. "This procedure actually has a pretty high success rate. I think it could work."

"I've had enough of this Dr. Watson." John flinched. It was never good when Sherlock used his last name when speaking directly to him. "Get out of my house now." He slammed the door that he was still standing at in John's face.

"Please don't do this Sherlock," John called out through the door. He really didn't want to part ways.

"I will not talk to an idiot," Sherlock answered. "Come back tomorrow when you've gained some sense."

"Please," John begged, but Sherlock had already moved away from the door with no intention of coming back to it. John leaned his head against the door and bit his lip. He was hoping to at least get to say goodbye to Sherlock's face, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Did you two have another domestic?" When John didn't answer she continued to say, "Are you okay?" with a worried look on her face.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson," John said once he finally pulled himself back together and started heading back down the stairs to talk to her. "Would you mind if I talk to you outside Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh yes dearie," Mrs. Hudson replied.

John held the door open for her to step out and closed it behind the two of them just in time to miss Sherlock ripping the upstairs door open once more.

"What did you want to talk about dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"I was hoping you could apologize to Sherlock for me," John said.

"Me?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Don't you usually like to give your apologies in person?"

"Yes," John answered, "but he won't talk to me."

"I'm sure he'll listen to you tomorrow dearie," Mrs. Hudson said.

"I won't be coming back tomorrow," John shook his head.

"Oh why not?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Did Sherlock say something to you?"

"No Mrs. Hudson," John answered. "It's just that I won't be able to come back tomorrow."

"Why not dearie?"

John took a deep breath. He really wanted to be telling Sherlock this, but at least, if it came from Mrs. Hudson's lips, Sherlock wouldn't be able to ignore it. "I've been drafted into the army."

"But you're a doctor," Mrs. Hudson gasped. "They aren't supposed to be drafting doctors."

"It's any able bodied man, Mrs. Hudson," John explained. "They need everyone they can get. And the doctors are even more important because there's so few of them."

"Can't you refuse them dearie?" Mrs. Hudson asked as tears began to from in her eyes. She already knew the answer to that, but she still wanted to make sure.

"No," John sighed. "They drafted me. I can't refuse. I wanted to tell Sherlock this in person, but I made him mad at me and now he won't talk to me. Please tell him I'm sorry and that I love him. I'll send him a letter as soon as I can, but I won't be able to write it in braille for him, so can you read it to him for me?"

"Of course dearie." Now Mrs. Hudson was crying, but she was able to hold herself together enough to send him off with a hug and a smile. He deserved at least that much. "Be careful dearie," she whispered into his chest.

"I will. Thank you Mrs. Hudson." John returned the hug quickly before he turned and left the building and his lover behind.

Mrs. Hudson stood outside for only a moment longer before she went back into the safety of her own home to cry her tears.

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked from halfway down the stairs. He had been making his way down the stairs from the moment they had stepped outside until now and he cursed his blindness for making him take them so slow. "And don't say that it's not important because John wouldn't have asked to talk to you outside if it wasn't. He knows that I can hear everything that goes on in this house, so he took you outside to where I wouldn't be able to hear. So what did he say?"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson sobbed.

Sherlock's eyes widened immediately. "Why are you crying?" he demanded. There was worry evident in his voice, but he didn't really care. Mrs. Hudson was crying and she had just talked to John so it must have something to do with John.

"It's John," she said clearly not aware of his deductions. "He's… he's… he's been… drafted."

Sherlock froze. John was going off to be in the army. His John was going away. "That's not possible!" he screamed. "John promised that he would never leave me! He promised! You must be lying to me." But he knew that she wasn't lying. Mrs. Hudson never lied and, if she did, he would be able to detect the change in her voice. "You'll see," he said. "He'll come back tomorrow and then you'll see."

Mrs. Hudson would have said more, but Sherlock was already making his way back up the stairs, much faster than he should and tripping several times, so that he could slam the door behind him and throw himself against it and give out the loudest scream that Mrs. Hudson had ever heard. They both knew that John wouldn't be returning tomorrow.

And there was no sign of a doctor throughout the whole of the next day even though Sherlock waited patiently by the front door to greet him.

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I hope you guys enjoyed this story as well. Please read and review with any comments, questions, or requests that you have. I accept flames as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Before you guys read this chapter, I just want to say that I don't know any blind people and I have no clue about braille, but I will try my best to convey both these things to the best of my knowledge.

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It took a full week for a letter to come from John and, by that time, Sherlock was not happy at all. As time went by, he threw more and more temper tantrums. He threw things, he screamed, and he beat things with his cane. It got to the point that Mrs. Hudson was actually afraid to go upstairs and help her charge. So when she saw the letter between a bill and a piece of junk mail, she almost hesitated. Almost. But she didn't.

Mrs. Hudson was so happy to see the letter that she literally dropped the mail on the ground and ran up the stairs as fast as her bad hip would allow her to. She opened the door, receiving a loud, angry scream from Sherlock, and yelled as loud as she could "It's a letter from John!"

Sherlock stopped immediately. He stood and stumbled over the mess that he had created in the past week in order to get to her. "Give it to me," he demanded with his unoccupied hand outstretched before he had even made it halfway to her.

"Now Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson replied. "I already told you that John wouldn't be able to write in Braille while he's away. He asked me to read it for him."

"Fine," Sherlock growled. "But give it to me first."

She did as she was told as soon as Sherlock was close enough for her to hand it over. The first thing he did was smell the envelope. "He's still at boot camp," he announced. "The envelope doesn't smell as bad as it would if he was actually out on the battlefield." He took another sniff of it just so that he could smell John's scent before he opened the thing with trembling hands. He got a paper cut for his efforts, but he ignored it in favor of pulling the actual letter out of its confines. He ran his hands down the paper and, true to Mrs. Hudson's word, couldn't feel any braille beneath his hands. He could, however, feel how the paper was worn in such a way that told him that John was unable to write the whole letter in one sitting. He probably actually wrote the thing from the moment he arrived at boot camp to the moment he sent it a few days later with all of the interruptions of boot camp in-between. He could feel a little bit of dried blood on one side, which meant that he gave himself a paper cut because there was no way he would not wash his hands before continuing the letter. That meant that he was probably writing the letter late at night with only a small light to guide his movements. Sherlock continued to slide his hand down the paper until his hand skimmed holes at the very bottom where the signature was. The holes seemed to be put in a deliberate pattern so he allowed his hands to skim the grouping once again and he smiled. The holes were placed to copy braille writing and they read:

_I love you,_

_John_

"Read it," Sherlock commanded as he thrust the letter back into Mrs. Hudson's hands.

"Alright dearie," Mrs. Hudson said. "Let me just sit down and I'll get right on that." She made her way past a pouting Sherlock and sat on the couch. She wouldn't dare to sit on the lounge chair that had been dubbed John's chair and Sherlock would not be happy if she sat in his chair so she sat on the couch. She waited until Sherlock sat next to her and then she began.  
_Dear Sherlock_

_I wanted to start this letter by saying how sorry I am. I am so sorry that I tried to push you towards getting that surgery. I know that lately you've been saying that you don't care about it and that you don't want to try anymore, but I thought that it was just because you were tired of all the failed treatments that you tried so far. I thought that it was just something that you were afraid of trying and failing again. I thought that you just needed someone to push you towards it. I remember how you used to always talk about when you were little and could see everything around you. I remember how you spoke about the things that you miss seeing. I even remember you wishing that you could see just so that you could see me. I want you to be happy, Sherlock, and I went about the totally wrong way of doing it. I'm so sorry. _

_I also wanted to apologize for not telling you that I had been drafted into the army in person. I told myself that you wouldn't want to talk to me after I had made the mistake of trying to make you do something that you didn't want to do. I tried to tell myself that, but I know it's wrong. I was afraid. I was afraid of how you would react, of how I would react, and I didn't want to deal with all of that. It was selfish of me and now I regret it. I wish I could have told you goodbye. I wish I spent my last night with you just like we've spent so many other nights together. I wish… _

_Well, I guess it's not the best idea to keep wishing for things that I know will never happen. Instead, I can hope that you will accept me back if I return home. I would understand if you didn't, though. I was acting stupid and selfish and I hurt you because of it. I'm sorry. Please forgive me._

"I'm sorry dearie, but there isn't a signature or anything," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Yes there is," Sherlock snatched the paper back and rand his hand over it until he found the words _I love you _once again. He ran his hands over it several times, just reveling in the fact that John still loved him just like he did every time John said the words to him. "Mrs. Hudson," he said after a moment, "get me my keyboard." He had to write a letter back to John immediately to forgive him and insult him for being so idiotic as to think that Sherlock wouldn't welcome him back and the keyboard was the only way that he knew how because it wrote everything in braille. There was no way that he was going to let Mrs. Hudson write such an important letter for him. He wanted to make sure that every word was perfect before sending it off to John.

"I can't dearie," Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically.

"Why not?" Sherlock growled.

"You broke it yesterday," Mrs. Hudson answered. "I tried to find another one, but they said that it would be a while before they'd be able to make another one for you."

"Get me my phone then," Sherlock hissed. Mrs. Hudson did just that, but she didn't hand it to him until she dialed Mycroft's number under Sherlock's instruction.

"Yes little brother?" Mycroft spoke into the phone.

"I need a new keyboard," Sherlock said shortly.

"Of course," Mycroft agreed with a smirk that Sherlock could hear even through the phone. "It seems that yours was somehow thrown against a wall."

"Just get me a new one," Sherlock growled.

"Anthea should be at the door shortly with your new keyboard," Mycroft answered without missing a beat. "I heard that you got a letter from John."

"Go get the door," Sherlock commanded Mrs. Hudson. She would have asked him what he was talking about because the bell hadn't gone off, but just as she was about to say something the bell cut her off.

"Do try not to break this one little brother," Mycroft said. "It is rather hard to get a hold of those these days."

"Fine," Sherlock growled before putting the phone down on the table in front of him and stood with his cane before him so that he could make his way to the table just to his right. This was one of those moments that he was glad that he lived in a simple flat like this because he had already memorized where everything was and could easily make his way anywhere. Anywhere outside of his simple flat, he would be completely lost and he often had to rely on John's guiding arm to take him exactly where he needed to go.

Anthea came up with the keyboard and set it up right in front of Sherlock. He only gave her just enough time to have the thing installed before he put his hands down on it experimentally. It was almost an exact replica of the one that he had been using before. The only thing different was the item number on the side, but he didn't really take that much time to investigate it much further. His hands found the keys that he wanted and he immediately started writing, hearing the machine create the braille equivalent for every letter he pressed on the paper that was before him.

He did not leave the keyboard again until he was finished with his own letter and was absolutely certain that it was perfect. Then he called out to Mrs. Hudson and demanded that she make sure that it got in the mail at that very moment so that it would get to John as soon as possible. She complained that the time of her getting the letter to the mail would hardly affect the amount of time it took for the letter to get to John, but she did as she was told anyway. She was just happy that Sherlock seemed to be in a better mood.


	3. Chapter 3

John received the letter several days later. It actually came just in time for him to be shipped out. The army was spending less time training the soldiers and more time needing them out on the field so they were exceedingly glad to find that the good doctor was also a good shot and a good fighter. They decided to send him out on the next convoy to the battlefield. So he was packing his bag when one of the trainers came in with a letter addressed to him.

"Here," the man said gruffly as he handed the envelope over to John. "You got a letter."

John took it slowly and smiled when he saw the delicate, though a little shaky from age, hand writing of Mrs. Hudson. That could only mean one thing: Sherlock had sent him a return letter. He couldn't help the bright smile that spread over his face as he abandoned his bag and sat on his bed.

"What's that?" one of the more curious boys asked as he slowly ripped open the envelope. He was also one of the youngest and had only just turned the right age for drafting when he was pulled into the army.

"It's a letter from my lover," John answered. He put aside the envelope after pulling the letter out only for it to be stolen by the boy.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he asked. "You're a home wrecker!"

"Mrs. Hudson is my lover's caretaker," John answered without any sort of remorse. "My lover is blind." He turned the letter towards the boy knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to read it.

"What is that?" he asked.

"It's braille," John answered. "My lover can only write in braille so Mrs. Hudson has to sign her own name on the envelopes whenever they're sent out."

"Well," the boy said. "What does it say?"

"That's private," John smiled. He knew that the boy had a tendency to read over people's shoulders and he found himself glad that he was the only one who would be able to read the thing. He wanted to keep Sherlock all to himself.

"Ah come one," the boy whined. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

That was a lie. The boy was a total gossip.

"Sorry," John said, "but no." He turned to the letter, completely ignoring the boy's complaints and ran his hand quickly down all the bumps pressed into the paper. Sherlock didn't write a lot, but then he never really did.

_You're an idiot John_

Were the first words on the page and John couldn't help but to laugh.

_You aren't going to get away from me no matter what you do. Even if you try to run from me, I will find you. You know I will. _(John had no doubt about the sincerity of Sherlock's words). _I will track you down and I will drag you home with my own two hands if I have to. _

_And, as for the apologies that you wasted so much of your time on, they are unnecessary as I am the one who drove you away before you could tell me about being drafted. I am only angry with myself for not allowing you to stay. When you come back, and you will come back to me John; you have no choice in the matter, I will make it up to you with a nice dinner out followed by a night in bed._

_You are right John. I do want to see again, but it is practically impossible for someone in my position to regain my sight. Besides, I will not go to surgery unless you are there with me.  
_

_Write back soon SH_

John smiled and ran his hands once more against the paper so that he could read it again. He didn't even realize he was cry until the boy from earlier spoke up.

"Was it sad?" he asked. "Did she break up with you?"

"No," John shook his head and wiped his tears away. "It wasn't sad. My lover just promised me that they would wait for my return."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because I'm so happy. I thought my lover would leave me, but my lover is actually going to wait for me. I couldn't be happier right now." John read the letter once more before sitting down to write something back. He wouldn't finish it before he had to leave, but he could at least start it while Sherlock's words were still fresh in his mind and his happiness was still uncompromised by the many dead and injured bodies that he would no doubt come in contact with while he was out in the field. He was well aware of the boy standing beside him reading everything that he wrote, but he paid no mind to him. He was always careful no to mention anything about his lover being a male in either his letters or his spoken words so he didn't mind the boy reading his words. He even made sure to mention him and when the boy read the words he made a weird noise and backed away. He had thought that he was being stealthy, but that clearly wasn't the case.

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I know this is kind of a short chapter, but I promise that not all of them will turn out to be this short.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was much better for the few days that he had to wait for John's next letter. He practically acted the same way that he did whenever John wasn't around. Of course, it was somewhat annoying to Mrs. Hudson, but anything was better than the dangerous Sherlock that she had encountered before. Beside, she was used to this side of Sherlock. So used to it in fact that it no longer bothered her that much.

And then Mycroft had to come and visit just to check up on his little brother. Sherlock scowled when Mycroft told him that he worried about him just like he did during every single one of his visits with Sherlock and, by what he heard from John after Mycroft had kidnapped him, on every visit with someone who was in anyway connected with him.

"Have you been gaining weight?" Sherlock asked as he always did when Mycroft was annoying him. "Your footfalls have gotten heavier again."

"Losing it in fact," Mycroft insisted. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"I made some tea and biscuits," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as she entered the room with the items on a platter.

"No biscuits for Mycroft," Sherlock smirked knowing that Mycroft would want some. Mrs. Hudson's biscuits were the best after all. "He's on a diet."

"Oh well that's too bad," Mrs. Hudson said. "I shall just take them away now then."

"That will hardly be necessary," Sherlock said. "I still want to eat them and Mycroft doesn't mind me eating in front of him. He does want to make sure that I eat you know. He's worried about me."

"Alright then sweetie," Mrs. Hudson put the platter on the foldable table next to the chair where Sherlock sat across from Mycroft who sat in John's chair so that he would be able to get to them. "Lord knows you need to put more meat on your bones anyway," she continued. "Mycroft has some meat on his bones." Sherlock snickered at the unintended insult.

"Oh shut up Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft growled annoyed.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock scolded as Mrs. Hudson gave him an affronted look. "Apologize."

"I apologize Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft said as he tried to regain his composure.

"Though do in fact shut up Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock smirked just to show that he was flaunting the fact that he was allowed to insult Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft wasn't.

"We shouldn't fight dear brother," Mycroft said. "You know how it always upset mummy."

"It wasn't me that upset her," Sherlock again flaunted the fact that their mother had spent much more time with Sherlock then with Mycroft because of his disability.

There would have been more said on the subject, but Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson's gait as she walked as quickly as she could up the stairs with her hip. That could only mean one thing. Sherlock stood, knocking over the platter of untouched biscuits as he went and made his way over to the door before Mrs. Hudson could even open it. When she did, it was to find Sherlock with his hand out. "Give it to me," Sherlock demanded. She immediately handed it over and Sherlock went through the same process he did with the first letter.

Sherlock frowned when the distinct smell of smoke and guns reached his nose. "He's out on the field," Sherlock mumbled under his breath. He took the letter out of the envelope, which he handed to Mrs. Hudson to hold onto, and ran his hands once again down the letter. He could tell that the first little bit was written while still at the camps, but there was a distinct change in the ink when he moved out onto the field. On the bottom was the same braille message that had been on the first letter.  
_I love you,  
John_

"Read it," Sherlock demanded as he made his way back to his chair.

"And who is this from?" Mycroft raised a brow at the letter that Mrs. Hudson was now holding between her two hands with such care that she would not crinkle or rip it in anyway.

"You can leave now Mycroft," Sherlock said with a distracted wave of his hand as he waited impatiently for Mrs. Hudson to start.

"Very well," Mycroft agreed as he stood and left the room. He had his suspicions about whom it was from anyway.

"Alright dearie," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as she sat on the couch. "Here it goes.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Thank you so much for your letter. You don't know how happy it made me just to get a response let alone such a positive. Thank you for accepting me even though I was so horrible to you on our last day together. Thank you for saying that you will wait for me. Thank you. I love you._

_They've decided to ship me out earlier than they would any of the other soldiers. I was already a good shot, as you know, and a good fighter, as you know, so they didn't really have much to teach me before I'm combat ready. The only thing that I'm really missing from my training is the experience of being a doctor out on the field. I've never done that before and I don't really know how I'll act when the time comes for me to do that, but I will do my best. Besides, it's really hard to gain experience without actually doing it._

_I was actually packing when your letter came. There's this boy, his name is David, who likes to get into everyone's mail. He's reading over my shoulder right now in fact. And now he's left me alone. Anyway, he likes to get into everyone's mail and he saw that the letter was addressed from Mrs. Hudson and he actually thought that I was a home wrecker. That's you though isn't it? You're always the one who wrecks our homes and then I'm the one who fixes them. Besides, I would rather the person that I love be happy with someone then to try to ruin a relationship like that. I would never be able to forgive myself if I made that person unhappy because I kept them with me when they could be happy with someone else._

_I'm out on the field now. You've probably already noticed this with your deductive skills. How did you do it this time? And don't lie and tell me that you only knew because I wrote it in the letter. I know you better than that. _

_I should probably mention that there should be instructions for Mrs. Hudson to send further letters to me through the military. It will take longer for the letters to get to me and for me to respond, but I promise to keep sending you letters. You just have to be a little more patient and wait for them to arrive._

_A lot of the guys out here are really nice. Half of them have some real experience while the other half is just come out of the camps like me. I'm the only doctor in my unit. That's not supposed to happen. There's supposed to be at least two to a unit just in case one of them gets hurt, but they really are running short on doctors now. My unit said that they actually went some time without a doctor at all. They lost a lot of men, but they hope that I will be able to save them now that I'm here. God I hope that I can live up to their expectations. I'm so afraid that I'm going to freeze up when it comes time for me to actually do my job. _

_I can't tell the other men how I feel. They're counting on me to help them when they get injured. The only thing that I can do is work through it. God, I wish that I were home with you Sherlock. I wish I were just a regular doctor who checked on a blind person at 221B Baker St. _

_I have to be strong._

"Poor John," Mrs. Hudson said sadly as she stood and handed the paper to Sherlock.

"He will be fine Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said with more confidence than he really felt. He hugged the paper close to him one, caressing the braille words one last time, before he slipped it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket where he kept the first letter close to his heart. "He's just nervous."

Sherlock stood and made his way over towards his keyboard. If it was true that the letters would take longer to come and go to John, then he had to be sure to write this one quickly so that he could get his next letter sooner. That did not mean, however, that he was going to compromise his writing for speed. He would tell John all that needed to be said.


	5. Chapter 5

I just wanted to warn you guys before you read this chapter that I don't know practically anything about the ranks of the army so I'm not even going to attempt. Sorry about that.

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Being on the battlefield was tiring. John hadn't even been there long and he had already lost several people. He was a doctor, but even he wasn't prepared for all of the injuries that he saw on the battlefield. Nor was he really prepared for having almost nonstop patients. He was the most experienced doctor at their camp so he was given almost no time to rest. He spent as much as 72 hours without any sleep before he would finally collapse for an hour or two only to be called back to the medical tents for another emergency. He didn't even get a chance to read the letter written from Sherlock until a few days after he had received it and that was only because the leader of the base ordered him to get some rest before they went out on a mission so he wouldn't be "half-dead," as the man called it, and of no use to his team.

He got in as much sleep as he could possibly manage before waking up and reading the letter. He would have read the letter first, but his mind rejected the idea of trying to make out braille while he was so exhausted so he fell asleep with the letter clutched in his hand with the intention of reading it when he woke up just like he did every time that he went to sleep. Only this time he actually got the chance to read it. Luckily, this time he also didn't have a nosy little trainee to worry about looking over his shoulder either. Everyone else in the room was either sleeping or doing their own things to get ready for their upcoming mission.

_Don't be dull John,_

Sherlock never was one for the conventional beginnings to letters or otherwise, but John smiled nonetheless.

_I could smell the smoke and sand on the envelope and there was some sand caught inside when I took the letter out._

_Your fears are unfounded. You are the best doctor there is. You would not be my doctor otherwise. You will be fine no matter what task they give to you. Do not be dull in thinking otherwise. _

_I do hope that the men at your base are treating you well. I will not be happy if I find that they have hurt you in anyway. I will make sure that they will never see the light of day again. _

_Also, your speech about letting the person you love go if they love another was completely unnecessary as well. I love you. I will not love another. You will return and we will be together again because, as I mentioned in my last letter even though I hate to repeat myself, you are mine John Watson and I am not letting you get away from me. _

_John. What you're doing is good… It's very good. I am proud of you. You are strong._

John smiled at the disjointedness of the letter. It reminded him so much of his lover since Sherlock was always jumping from one thing to another as his mind moved much faster than his mouth. John sometimes had problems keeping up with his genius of a lover, but he just loved to listen to Sherlock speak to him so he never stopped Sherlock. He knew that if he asked the man to repeat anything Sherlock would simply start sulking and choose not to talk to him for some time. He hated it when that happened so he tried to avoid it at all costs whenever possible. He did have his ways to make Sherlock talk, but he knew that if he continually used them than Sherlock would become immune and that was the last thing that he wanted.

Taking one more look around the room at all the other people who were remembering their loved ones through letters and little trinkets, John smiled and returned to the envelope to find that there was another letter tucked inside of it.

_The last letter I wrote was insufficient, but I will place it with this one just so that I don't have to repeat it all because you know how I hate doing that._

And John also had no doubt that there were several other copies of letters supposed to be written to John that were messed up in some way and then thrown away before he made it to the disjointed one that John got.

_I don't have anything more to add to the letter, but Mrs. Hudson tells me that I should add something more. Her husband died in a war you know._

John did know that and he frowned at the reminder. This was probably really hard on Mrs. Hudson as well as them because she had to watch them go through the same sort of pain that she had to go through before her husband died.

_She says that I should include a picture of me so that you have something to keep you going. I don't understand how that works, but I believe she does have more experience in these matters than I do myself so I decided to listen to her. In the envelope there is a picture of me._

John quickly looked into the envelope one last time to find a fairly recent picture of Sherlock. It was the only one that they had of Sherlock smiling because Sherlock didn't like cameras and they didn't have very many photos to begin with. In fact, now that John thought about it, there were actually no photos of him and only a few photos of Sherlock. After a moment of staring at the picture fondly, John returned to his letter to read the last little bit.

_Keep it with you at all times. That way I will be able to be with you at all times. Be safe._

John smiled and folded the two letters around the picture before sticking them with the first letter in one of his many pockets. He decided that he would write a return letter when he got back from their mission and went back to sleep with a smile on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock waited for a response, but it never came.


	7. Chapter 7

"Medic!" The yells kept coming. More and more men were getting injured and it was all John cold do just to get to them in time to watch the last remaining essence of life drip from their bodies through injuries that he could have fixed if he had been given the time. He was losing more people than he was saving and it was wearing him thin.

The mission had started out relatively easy. The only thing that they had to do was go to one of the villages nearby and talk to the villagers. They were just supposed to make sure the villagers were safe and they had. The villagers had been perfectly fine. They hadn't even seen the enemy in such a long time that it lulled him and his team into a false sense of security.

It was on the way back from the village that everything went downhill. They were on open road on the way back to their camp when one of the trucks in front of his own was shot at. They all got out of their own trucks and John saw his driver get shot in the head before any of them could make it to any sort of cover. Another man went down just outside of their cover and John covered as the passenger in his truck pulled the man to him. From then on he was almost nonstop working on wounded men.

They needed to get out of there. They needed to retreat, but there was no longer any place for them to go. If they tried to retreat, they would all be shot down.

John could see his life flashing before his eyes even as he saw the lives of so many others draining out of them. He could see Sherlock and he could remember touching him and loving him. He could almost feel the letters and the picture burning against his chest. It was the only thing that he would have of Sherlock's when he died. He would die alone with nothing but a few measly papers to comfort him. And Sherlock would be left alone once more.

_No! _John yelled in his mind as he pulled a bullet out of the leg of one of the few men that he got to in time to save. _Sherlock believes in me. He said that I would come home. I have to go home. I can't leave Sherlock alone. I won't leave Sherlock alone. I'm not going to die here. I'm not going to die here!_

A gunshot was all it took to take the good doctor down. A shot from an enemy weapon aimed at his unintentionally exposed back. A shot that buried into the back of his left shoulder and then ripped through the front of it. Right above his heart. Just missing the deadly shot. That was all it took to take the good doctor down.

"Please god let me live," he cried quietly even as he heard people call out for a medic. He couldn't help them. He was down and he wasn't getting back up. All those men that he could have saved were dying just out of his arms reach because he couldn't get over the pain that was spreading throughout his body. _Please god let me live. Please let me see Sherlock again. Please._

Suddenly there was a face in front of him. He didn't recognize it. The one thing that he did recognize was the uniform the man wore. It was one that belonged to a medic from the enemy. The face disappeared and was replaced by pressure against his wound. He cried out in pain as the man that he didn't know starting working on him. He was saving his life, but he didn't know what for. The fear of dying immediately was replaced with the fear of what will happen after his life is saved. Prisons of war weren't always treated kindly.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was not happy. Not at all. And this wasn't the I'm bored not happy. This was far far worse. This was the John's not talking to me not happy to the extreme. He knew that John said that it would take longer for the letters to go to and from the battlegrounds, but it had already been over a month and Sherlock was getting restless from not having any news from the man. It gave him an odd feeling of worry that he had never experienced before.

Mrs. Hudson knew exactly what Sherlock was going through. She had had to wait several weeks to get letters from her husband before he died, but even she had to admit that it had been too long. She knew that John wasn't ignoring Sherlock. She could only hope that John just had to wait a little longer to write the letter because he was so busy. Medics always seemed to be working after all. That's what she was hoping for, but even she had to admit that it had been much to long for it to be just that. She feared for John and Sherlock. She feared that John suffered the same fate as her husband and that Sherlock would suffer the same grief, if not far worse, than what she suffered. She feared these things, but she still hoped.

It was on a day that Sherlock was crashing around the flat upstairs while Mrs. Hudson tried her hardest not to have to go up and disturb him that all of their questions were answered.

Mrs. Hudson was nervously making tea and biscuits to take up to Sherlock. He needed to eat. After all, she had promised John, in one of the letters that she sent along side Sherlock's, that she would make sure that he would eat at least one meal a day. Biscuits didn't really count, but she knew that it would be the only thing that she would be able to get him to eat during one of these moods. Even that sometimes failed. So she was making her biscuits when she heard a loud knock on the door.

She left the biscuits and the tea on a tray on her counter so that she could take it up to Sherlock when she was done answering the door and left her flat. Her hip had been bothering her and she walked a little slowly so she could only hope that the person would be patient. They weren't always. When she opened the door, the person was there, but she almost wished the he wasn't.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson cried out as tears made their way to her eyes and down her cheeks. "Oh my god!"

The noises upstairs stopped immediately and Sherlock rushed to his own door to rip it open. "What's the matter Mrs. Hudson?" he asked as he began to make his way down the stairs with one hand on the railing and the other wrapped around his cane.

"Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" the man at the door asked as he watched him descend.

Sherlock froze. From the voice of the man he could hear that he was from the military. He'd probably seen a lot of dead men. The way he was breathing spoke about his inability to use his body correctly, which meant that he was probably just out of the hospital. Probably recovering from a wound from war that rendered him honorably discharged. Sherlock would guess that he probably had a prosthetic limb on one of his legs. But what really caught Sherlock's attention was the utter despair and pity that emanated from the man's voice.

"What do you want?" Sherlock growled. His voice spoke of anger, but the only thing that his whole body could feel was worry and fear and despair. He didn't want to lose John. He couldn't lose John. He couldn't.

"My name is Bill Murray," the man said calmly. The anger that Sherlock seemed to be feeling didn't really bother him. He knew that different people reacted differently to despair, and John had told him that Sherlock was never one for the ordinary responses. "I was in John Watson's command."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked again. He was still frozen in his place.

"We went on a mission, but we were ambushed," he continued. "The enemy caught us by surprise, but we tried our hardest to fight back. John did everything that he could to save the injured. I was one of the ones he was successful with even though I lost my leg. Most of the men died."

"Oh god!" Mrs. Hudson cried out again and Sherlock finally collapsed so that he was sitting on one of the steps. His head fell into his hands and he let out a strangled sob, but he wouldn't allow himself to cry in front of a complete stranger even if the man knew John.

"I saw John get shot," Bill continued. "We were just retreating when I saw him get shot in the shoulder. When we returned for our dead hours later, he was nowhere to be found."

Sherlock's head shot up. "He's not dead?" he asked.

"John Watson is classified as MIA," Bill nodded, "but that wound that he got was pretty bad. I don't think that he's going to make it even if he's not already dead."

"He's not dead," Sherlock stood with a growl. "He promised me that he was going to come back." That was a lie and everyone knew it, but Sherlock wanted it to be the truth so he said it anyway. "He won't die from something as simple as a shot to the shoulder. He'll come back to me." He made his way over to the door, fully intending to close it in the man's face, but Mrs. Hudson held the door open. She knew that they needed to hear this man out no matter what Sherlock wanted. Something told her that there was something else that he had to do.

Bill gave Sherlock a sympathetic smile. "I thought I should be the one to tell you guys about this. John was one of my best friends out there and he was a damn good man." He dug through his pocket and produced a silver chain with two dog tags on it. "He asked me to give this to you Sherlock," he explained as he placed the necklace in Sherlock's hand. "Once he realized that I was going home he said he wanted you to have something of him like he has something of you." With that he gave one last salute and goodbye before turning and waddling back into the streets. Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind him.

"Oh," she cried. "I'm so sorry Sherlock."

"He's not dead," Sherlock mumbled distractedly as he ran his hand over the dog tags. The carvings were harder to read than he was used to since they were in plain English, but he was able to make them out eventually. They were John's dog tags. Mrs. Hudson wore a pair of her late husband's dog tags and she had once told them that it was almost tradition for the soldiers to give their dog tags to someone close to them. It was meant as a good luck and a protective charm. Sherlock hadn't seen the sense in any of it when she had told them, but now that he had a set of John's dog tags he knew that he would never let them go. "He's not dead," he repeated as he looped the metal over his neck.

Mrs. Hudson frowned, but she let Sherlock say that without any fuss. She could only hope that he was telling the truth.

"I want to get that surgery John was talking about done," Sherlock announced suddenly. "The one to fix my eyes."


	9. Chapter 9

John woke to complete darkness. For a moment he wondered if this was how Sherlock felt all the time. He used to attempt to go throughout the day with his eyes closed to try to see how Sherlock felt, but whenever he worried that he would run into something he just opened his eyes and Sherlock couldn't do that. This moment was more similar to what Sherlock had to endure, but it still wasn't the same because his eyes were already starting to adjust.

There were others in the room, he realized once his eyes were fully adjusted. He could see shapes of men. Some of them much to skinny and some of them holding their bodies awkwardly in order to favor a wound. It worried John's doctor mind to have so many people in this room that looked like they were all in danger for some reason or another. He sat up quickly in order to start attending his patients, but he was immediately stopped when a jolt of searing pain shot through his shoulder and across his body.

"Easy there," the man closest to him said as he caught him so he wouldn't fall and damage himself even more. He helped John sit up until he was leaning against the wall.

"How bad is it?" John asked as he prodded his now bare shoulder to check his wound. It was properly taken care of, but it bothered John that he didn't have anything wrapped around it. He took off what was left of his ripped up shirt and tore it to pieces to wrap around the wound. It was a painful process, but it needed to be done.

"I can't really see it," the man gave a short laborious cough, "but it looked pretty severe in the light."

"Not my shoulder," John shook his head. "How bad is it in here."

"Oh," the man realized suddenly. "It's not looking good. We're lucky we're all still alive, though some of us are only barely."

"Food?" John asked. "Water?"

"They give us a small amount everyday," the man explained, "but good luck getting any in your condition. Down here it's every man for himself."

"Are you okay?" John asked.

"Yea man," the soldier laughed. "I was knocked out by a bomb and the next thing that I know I'm in here with the rest of these guys."

John sighed, but he had heard that cough. He would have to do a more thorough check on the man later when he had the strength to do so. Just then a bright light flooded into the room and a bag was tossed inside. Immediately, anyone who could move was diving at the bag and pulling out as much food as they could grab.

"Stop this now!" John demanded in his most authoritative voice as he jumped forward and snatched the entire bag away from them. He wasn't very far up in the ranks, but he was a doctor and he knew how to demand things from his patients even when they were higher ranking than him. Luckily, John being the newest member of the group meant that he was also the fastest and the strongest so he was able to wrestle the bag away from the people. "Look at you all," he continued once he had the bag in his hands. "What happened to the respectable men in the army? What happened to the soldiers?"

"You want it all to yourself," one of the men growled.

"I want us all to survive," John growled back. Everyone shut up at his voice. John had the uncanny ability to make that happen when he wanted people to listen to him and he had several different ways of doing it depending on the situation. "Look," he sighed. "We all need food, but some of us need it more than the rest. I propose that we separate it out so that we all get as much as we need. I'll take one of the smaller amounts since I'm relatively new and can last longer with less food. More food will be given to those who are severely injured and ill."

"Aren't you severely injured?" asked the man who had helped John earlier. He wasn't arguing with the plan, it was actually very good and would hopefully help them survive a little longer, but it seemed that John should also be the one to get some more food.

"I'll be fine," John answered respectfully. "Now I'm going to hand out the food after I figure out how many of you there are so that we can be fair to everyone. Then I'm going to go around and check all of your injuries. Hopefully I can help with some of them."

"Are you a doctor?" someone asked.

"I am," John nodded. "My name is John Watson and I was brought into the war because of my medical expertise."

The first man that he went to to give food was the man that had helped him. "My name's Chris by the way," he coughed. "I think that everything's going to get better now that you're here."

"I'm not so sure about that," John frowned, but he moved on quickly to the others.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a trying week for Mrs. Hudson. First she learned that John Watson was MIA and very likely KIA. Then she is forced to sit in a waiting room while her charge goes through a very dangerous procedure that may or may not bring his eyesight back. And, finally, she had been forced to deal with a very bored Sherlock who had to remain in bed for a week until his eyes healed. Sherlock, of course, wasn't happy with that part and Mrs. Hudson couldn't help but feel that if John were here it would have been a lot easier to keep him there. She had also been force, more than once, to smack his hands away from the bandages that covered his eyes. The doctor's had been very adamant about not removing the bandages until a week had passed or all their work could possibly be for not.

Mrs. Hudson had a trying week, but even she had to admit that Sherlock was probably having a rougher time of it all. He had just heard that his lover was MIA, though he refused to believe that the man was possibly KIA, had gotten a major surgery to possibly fix the eyes that he believed to be completely unfixable, and now he was stuck in bed while worrying about his missing lover. He was not a happy man at the moment. Sometimes he just wanted to get all of this over with, take the bandages off, and see whether or not he could see again. Mrs. Hudson always caught him before he could even attempt it, though, and then she would pull out the John would be happy to see him with sight card and he would be forced to leave it alone for another few hours.

The two of them had a trying week, so when it was over they both sighed in relief.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled as loud as he could when he woke up at the end of the week. He could finally take his bandages off. He was supposed to be doing this at the hospital, technically he was supposed to be at the hospital for all his recovery, but Sherlock never did like the place. All the smells did horrible things to his sensitive nose. Besides, he'd much rather have the first person he sees, if he's able to see at all, be someone that he knows well. Someone that he at least likes. He would have rather had John, but Mrs. Hudson would have to do in John's absence.

"I'm coming," Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs before Sherlock could shout for her again. She was an old woman and she had a hip that reacted particularly sharply when she first woke up so mornings were always her slowest times. Sherlock waited for her grudgingly. He would have jumped out of bed and just went to her, but he knew that would make her upset with him and he didn't want that to be the first face he saw. "I'm here," she announced rather unnecessarily as she opened the door.

"Took you long enough," Sherlock said eagerly. "Come here and undo these damn bandages."

"Language Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson chastised, but she came over and Sherlock could feel the bandages loosen. "Now keep your eyes closed until I tell you its okay to open them." Sherlock grumbled in annoyance, but did as he was told nonetheless. "Okay," Mrs. Hudson said once all of the bandages were away from Sherlock's face. "Open your eyes slowly. The doctor says that everything will seem really bright and you'll probably get a headache so I brought some paracetamol for you."

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly just as Mrs. Hudson had told him to. At first he could only see blurry images of colors mixing together, but it slowly swam into focus until he could see Mrs. Hudson's face looking down at him worriedly in a dark room because Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to neglect to turn on the light. Still the headache came because of all the things that he wasn't used to seeing. He reached his hand out and she dropped the paracetamol in his hands. He dry swallowed them and then snatched the water away from her to take a large gulp. Mrs. Hudson was so surprised that she let out an indignant squawk at Sherlock's movement.

"How is it?" she asked finally. She could tell that Sherlock could at least see something because his eyes weren't staring off into nowhere like they usually did, but she had no way of knowing how much he could see.

"I can see everything," Sherlock beamed proudly. "I can see everything!"

"That's great Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Go get my phone Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock demanded. "I want to call Mycroft."

Mrs. Hudson did as she was told. She handed the phone to Sherlock after she typed in the number, as she was used to doing, and he immediately put it up to his ear to wait for Mycroft to answer.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's smug voice drifted through the phone.

"I want to join the army," Sherlock said.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson gasped. She didn't want both of her boys to go into the army. Sherlock ignored her in favor of listening to Mycroft's response.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "A blind man cannot join the army."

"Don't be dull," Sherlock hissed as he stood a little shakily and walked over to the open window so that he could glare directly at the CCTV camera that was aimed at his building. "You know that I had a surgery."

"And it was successful." Sherlock could hear Mycroft's surprise and he scowled at the camera before turning away.

"I want to look for John," Sherlock continued. "Either you get me into the army so that I can look for him with other men there to protect me or I find a way to get there by myself where I am in danger of being shot from both sides."

"I can stop you," Mycroft said.

"No you can't," Sherlock said. "You already have a hard enough time controlling me when I can't see. Now that I can, there is no way you can stop me. I have given you your choices, now pick one."

"Very well," Mycroft sighed. "I will draft you into the army, but you still have to go through training camp."

"Fine," Sherlock agreed and hung up.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson cried.

"Don't worry Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock walked over and enveloped her in a hug. "I'll come back. And I'll bring John back with me."

"Be safe," Mrs. Hudson clung to Sherlock.

"Don't worry," Sherlock repeated. "John gave me these dog tags and you said that they were a protective charm. John has never failed to protect me in the past. He won't fail now even if he's not there."

"You come back then," Mrs. Hudson demanded tearfully. "You and John both."

"We will," Sherlock smiled reassuringly.


	11. Chapter 11

It didn't take long for John to examine all of the people in the room after they all ate. Most of the injuries were relatively minor and John only had to sacrifice a few more willing people's shirts to bandages. The main problem was actually the shear number of people that were sick. Most of them had just caught colds or something similarly undamaging, but if one of them should escalate into something worse, there would be nothing to stop the rest of the group from catching the illness as well.

His job was also made harder by the fact that he had little light to work and could barely move his left arm, his main arm, without feeling a burst of pain throughout his whole body.

"Take a break," Chris said as he worked on him. Chris was one of the few who was relatively healthy. His only problem was that he hadn't been eating anything because he had been letting the others get to the food before him.

"I'm almost done," John sighed. It was the truth. He had saved Chris for last because he just wanted to collapse next to the man when he was done. "You're probably one of the healthiest men in here," John said, "You'd be completely healthy if it weren't for the fact that you haven't been eating."

"Yea," Chris smiled. "Well I have something to live for."

"Oh?" John asked as he finally allowed himself to fall back into the place that he had woken up in. "What's that."

"Here," Chris took off a set of dog tags and handed them to John expecting him to try to peer into the darkness and be completely unsuccessful in reading them, but John closed his eyes and ran his thumb over them.

"Gregory Lestrade?" John asked as he handed the dog tags back to Chris.

"I wasn't expecting you to actually be able to read it," Chris laughed nervously. John was the first person in the military that he had ever told about his lover. There was a very real chance that John would be disgusted by him just like his parents were.

John just laughed and pulled out a paper, which he handed to Chris. Chris tried to peer at it to read it, but John grabbed his hand and ran it down the paper.

"What is that?" Chris asked.

"It's braille. Sherlock's blind," John answered as he replaced the paper into his pants pocket where he had put it when he had to rid himself of his shirt. "He's what's keeping me going."

"Sherlock?" Chris asked, but he could already feel the relief at meeting someone just like him.

"Yea," John smiled. "Sherlock Holmes. Blind genius. I gave him my dog tags. Well at least I hope they got to him. I asked someone to take them to him."

"I'm sure he got them," Chris assured. "You know, I'm never going to forget that name now. I don't think that I've ever heard such a weird name."

"Then you've never heard of Mycroft," John responded with a laugh.

"Yea," Chris laughed. "That's one just as bad."

"So," John said when their laughs finally subsided. "Who's Gregory Lestrade?"

"We were drafted into the army at the same time," Chris said. "We met in boot camp actually. It took us a day to become friends, a week to become really good friends, and then another week to find out that we were both interested in each other. After that we actually learned that we have lived near one another for a while now and have never met. It's amazing what going into the army has done for me. How did you meet Sherlock Holmes?"

"I was his doctor," John replied. "Sherlock didn't actually start out blind. His eyes just got worse until they finally gave out and he had been hiring different doctors to check his eyes for quite some time. By what I've hear, none of the doctors will ever come back to him because he spent most of the time that they were there insulting them. He even revealed some of their darkest secrets after being in the same room with them for only a minute. One of them was beating his wife and the other was sleeping with his sister. Sherlock's just amazing like that. He can deduce almost anything about a person even though he can't see. When I got there he actually got almost everything about me wrong."

"Really?" Chris laughed. "That must have been embarrassing."

"It was actually really hilarious," John laughed too. "He thought that I was a really old man because I brought an old cane with me. The cane belonged to my late father and I was still getting over his death, which is why I had it. He thought that I was an alcoholic because I smelt like alcohol even though it was still barely afternoon at the time. My sister's the alcoholic and I had actually just brought her home after she had gotten totally drunk. Then there were a couple of other things that he got wrong. When I told him he was actually wrong, he demanded that I come back again the next day. When I came back, he spouted off more deductions. They were better, but still some of them were wrong. He kept demanding that I come back until he finally got everything right and by that time I was so infatuated with him that I couldn't let him go. Of course, he doesn't actually love me back."

"How do you know that?" Chris frowned.

"Sherlock is the type of guy that is more infatuated with his own mind then he is with someone else. He spends more time insulting me than anything else, but he likes me enough to be my good friend and to get in bed with me."

"Whoa!" Chris stopped him. "That's too much information."

"Yea," John laughed. "I guess it is. I don't mind, though, that he doesn't love me back. Just as long as he stays with me."

"I hear that," Chris smiled. "I haven't actually told Greg that I love him yet. Hey, if you get out of here and see him before I do, could you tell him that I love him?"

"Only if you do the same," John responded immediately.

"You got it man," Chris replied.

* * *

Yep. I made up a lover for Lestrade. I thought about making it be Mycroft, but he just didn't fit the role. Anyway I hope you like it.

Now, who wants to do me a favor and give Chris a last name? Because I really suck at making up names.


	12. Chapter 12

Thank you guys for all your suggestions. I just kind of picked a random one from the list of names you guys gave me so here it is.

* * *

It took forever for Sherlock to get past the boot camp phase. His brother made sure that he wouldn't be able to move on until the people thought that he was ready. It wasn't that he wasn't very in shape, but his blindness had made mobility rather difficult so his muscles weren't the strongest. Then he also had to get used to shooting guns even with his sensitive hearing. And he had to get used to all the smells.

He was forced to stay at the boot camp for weeks watching others as they came and went until finally, _finally, _he was deemed ready for service. He still wasn't as good as some of the other soldiers, but he was good enough to go out into the field and that was all he cared about. He needed to be in the field to find John.

Sherlock played with his dog tags, entwining both his and John's together around his neck, as the truck took him to meet his new commanding officer. One, Gregory Lestrade, as he was told. The man sounded like an utter idiot, but Sherlock knew not to say so out loud. He had been punished enough at boot camp for insubordination. He would hold his tongue for now, just long enough to find John, at least he would as best he could.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes," an older man said as the back of the truck opened. Sherlock was the only one on the truck so of course it was him. He refrained from saying so.

"I am," he said instead as he jumped out of the truck to meet this new man. He sent his searching gaze over the man. His deduction skills weren't the best using his eyes since he was still getting used to using his eyes at all, but he had been honing them during boot camp so they were pretty good.

"I'm your commanding officer," the man greeted with a smile. "Gregory Lestrade."

"You're looking for someone," Sherlock said suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Lestrade asked.

"I saw it in the way that you searched the truck," Sherlock answered. "You wanted to see if anyone had come with me. Maybe to drop me off. Of course the person who did come with me wasn't who you were looking for because your face fell when you saw them. It must be a lover."

"What on earth makes you say that?" Lestrade asked.

"The way you touched your jacket while I was talking just now," Sherlock pointed at the spot that Lestrade had touched. "The pocket right above your heart. You probably have something sentimental there. Maybe a picture. Maybe some letters. Maybe both. However, you're trying to hide it from the crew so it isn't a normal lover."

"What gave you that idea?" Lestrade asked. This new recruit was rather frustrating, but all the things that he knew were fascinating. Of course, Lestrade would never tell him that.

"You're heart rate accelerated when I started talking about your lover," Sherlock explained. "I can just barely see your pulse in your neck, but it's enough to show me. You're afraid of me finding out about your secret love affair. I'm assuming that it's probably something that wouldn't be well accepted in the army so I'm assuming that this person is male. He's probably a soldier in a different faction and you have lost contact with him and don't know what happened to him or his crew. By the way you looked through the car, I'd say he's been missing for quite some time. He is MIA and has been for a while."

"Oh piss off," Lestrade growled. That's just great. That's all he needed was for someone to come and reveal his darkest secret. At least he hadn't done it in front of the whole crew who was off doing other things in the camp.

"We can look together," Sherlock completely ignored the comment.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"I do hate to repeat myself," Sherlock sighed.

"What do you mean we can look together?" Lestrade asked.

"For our lovers," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Both of them are MIA so we might as well look together."

"Oh!" Lestrade realized. "I heard that you recently underwent surgery to regain your sight and I was wondering why you would want to join the army right afterwards."

"I got the surgery done the day after John went missing," Sherlock answered.

"John?" Lestrade asked.

"My lover," Sherlock scowled. "Do keep up."

"Right," Lestrade said. "Right. Mine's name is Chris. Christopher Clearwater." He took a picture out of his breast pocket and showed it to Sherlock who examined it briefly before looking away.

"Mine is Doctor John Watson," he said.

"Do you have a picture?" Lestrade asked.

"I had no use for pictures until now," Sherlock frowned. He knew that it would be a lot easier for him to find John if he had a picture. He didn't even know what the man looked like. He could identify him by sound and touch, but he wouldn't be able to pick him out of a crowd of people.

"Ah," Lestrade nodded. He would not ask again.

* * *

A little over a week passed before Lestrade talked to Sherlock again in private.

"You know your hair is a little long for the army," Lestrade pointed out as a way of starting a conversation. Although, it wasn't just that. The others, mainly Sally and Anderson, were complaining about him being able to have their hair long. Lestrade thought that it was just because they didn't like Sherlock since Sally had relatively long hair that was pulled back too.

Sherlock's hair wasn't cut at all when he entered boot camp. As long as it was long enough to pull back into a ponytail, which it was barely, he could keep it at that length. Though he did suspect that Mycroft had something to do with that. "I have special permission," he said without looking up from the paper in his hands.

"That's a weird thing to have special permission for," Lestrade said.

"John likes my hair long," Sherlock mumbled.

"Ah," Lestrade agreed. He sat beside Sherlock for a moment completely curious about the letter that he had in his hands. He wanted to read over the man's shoulder, but he had learned long ago that people's privacy should not be stepped on so easily. Not that Sherlock understood that concept, but that wouldn't make him change. His morals, though, wouldn't stop him from asking. "What are you reading?"

"I can't read," Sherlock answered.

Lestrade had a moment of confusion. Sherlock was so good at doing everything that required the use of his eyes that he often forgot that Sherlock was blind for most of his life. "Right," he agreed. "Right. Sorry about that."

"I lost my sight when I was very young," Sherlock explained. "I had only just begun to learn to read some of the easier words. I've recently been teaching myself how to read."

"Really?" Lestrade asked. "How are you managing that?"

"I remember what the letters say," Sherlock answered. "I just don't remember which one is which. I have to figure that out, but once I do that I can match what I know the words say with what they look like."

"Well I could help you," Lestrade offered. "I could help you learn how to read."

Sherlock scowled, clearly not pleased with having to rely on anyone but himself, but then he sighed. "Very well," he said. "You may teach me how to read."

"Alright," Lestrade had to hold himself back from scoffing at Sherlock's choice of words. It almost sounded like Sherlock was doing him a favor by allowing him to teach him how to read, but he pushed it aside in favor of beginning the lessons. Sherlock seemed to really want to read the letters before him, and Lestrade could understand since they were the only things that Sherlock had of his John other than those dog tags.

"But we must have our lessons in private," Sherlock continued. "I will not have the others knowing of my inabilities." Sherlock had been doing so well in keeping the fact that he used to be blind a secret. He was not going to spoil that just for a couple of reading lessons. He would much rather forgo the reading lessons in general, wait for John to teach him, but he wanted to read John's letters more than anything. He wanted to be able to understand what each little curve and line meant on the paper before him. If that meant enduring a few reading lessons from his commanding officer, than so be it.

* * *

I know that the hair thing is totally stupid, but I just can't see Sherlock with shorter hair so I just had to do it. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

Time passed in the cell where so many soldiers were being held. No one is completely sure how much time has passed. John had attempted to keep track of it by when the food came, but sometimes their captors forgot to feed them and sometimes they fed them more than once per day so John gave up on that. He could only assume that it had been several months because whenever a new soldier got thrown into the room he would ask them what day they were captured while he healed their wounds.

It was getting more and more crowded in the room and John wondered if their captors were trying to make them feel so crowded or if they just assumed that many of them would be dead by now. Some of them probably would have been if John hadn't entered their lives. They would have fought over food and starved, but John brought order and he made sure that everyone was fed.

So time passed slowly. And hunger and thirst made people forget things. They forgot their own names sometimes. That's why John wasn't surprised when no one remembered his name. Not even Chris could recall the name of the good doctor. It wasn't surprising, really, since John's name is both the easiest to remember and the easiest to forget. Everyone just called him Doctor now. At first they had called him Doctor for the aspect of hope that having a doctor with them brought, but after a while they just couldn't remember what else to call him.

John was different. He made sure to remember everyone in the room's name. If a new soldier came in, one of the first things he asked them was their name. He kept track of the names and placed them with the blurry outlines of faces that he could see through the darkness and their exact location in the room. No one really moved from where they sat because they knew that John was keeping track of them by their assigned seats. It was better that way. It made it a lot easier for John to perform his role call when handing out food. He would call their names and they would walk over to him, accept the food, and then return to their seats, but if they didn't answer he would go over to them and check them over. Most of the time the ones that didn't answer were simply sleeping, but John made sure to check them all just the same. Sometimes he even sent Chris to check on them so that he could continue his role call.

The only problem was that John was starting to get tired. His mind started to fall into fog whenever he wasn't needed for role call. Sometimes Chris even had to shake him awake when the food came because he didn't notice it in time. He would not let himself forget the names of the soldiers in the room, but everything else seemed to slip from his mind until he could see himself back at 221 B Baker Street talking and laughing with Sherlock while Mrs. Hudson fussed about them.

"Doctor," Chris shook him again.

"Has the food come Chris?" John asked as he sat up readying himself to start the role call. He tried to make sure that he said the names of the people that he talked to if only so that they could remember their own name while he tried to keep it ingrained in his mind.

"You just handed the food out," Chris frowned. "Don't you remember?"

"Did I?" John asked, looking around to see through the deep darkness that people were actually eating.

"Yes," Chris nodded slowly, "but you haven't eaten anything yourself."

John looked down to see that there was indeed a small amount of food left in the pack just before him. It was the same amount of food that he always left for himself, but this time he had forgotten to eat it. He frowned at the little scraps. That really wasn't a good sign. "I'm sorry Chris," he mumbled. "I've just been thinking of home." It wasn't exactly a lie, but John was still happy that Chris could barely see his face because he knew that it would have given him away.

"Well you need to eat," Chris said.

John nodded and picked up the food, depositing the bag in the pile of bags that sat next to him for use of bandages, and began to eat it. As soon as the disgusting scraps hit his tongue, he felt like throwing up. That was the worse thing that he could do at the moment. They needed their doctor if only because he gave them hope. But his eyes were getting heavier and heavier as his strength left him with every bite that he took.

"Doctor," Chris watched him with a worried eye. "What's wrong with you? You've been totally out of it for a while now. Everyone's starting to worry about you."

"I'm fine," John tried to reassure him. "I'm just a little homesick."

"Don't give me that bull," Chris muttered. It would be bad for the others to hear their conversation, but the room was so tiny and everyone had gone silent when the two of them started talking so everyone could hear their words. "You're getting weaker and weaker. You've been eating less food. I know that you say that it's just because there are more people to feed now, but I've seen how little you leave yourself. Then you even forget to eat. You forgot that you even had food. I'm not a doctor, but even I know that that's not a good sign."

"I'm fine," John repeated. "I'm just a little homesick." His mind wasn't supplying him with anything else to reassure his friend. So he just kept saying the same thing.

"Doctor?" Chris asked. Something was wrong with John's voice. He seemed to be completely out of it.

"I'm just a little homesick," John said again, but his voice was weak and he could barely feel the words leave his lips before he fell forward.

"Doctor!" Chris gasped as he turned John over to examine him. He wasn't a doctor, but John had been using him as an assistant long enough that even his small medical skills were able to deduce the problem. John was wheezing and he was burning up. His eyes flickered back and forth blindly before he smiled. He had a harsh fever that was brought on by an infection from the bullet that was still lodged in his shoulder.

"Sherlock," John breathed out.

"Yes," Chris said. "Yes that's right. Remember Sherlock. Think of how sad he'd be if you didn't return home. Come on Doctor, keep your eyes open for me. For Sherlock."

"Sherlock," John said again, though much quieter. He was doing his best to keep his eyes open and stare at this man, but they were winning the battle very quickly.

"Help! Someone help!" Chris yelled out. "Come on Doctor. Stay with me here."

Suddenly every soldier in the room besides the two of them were standing up and making as much noise as they possibly could. Banging on the walls, hitting the doors, and calling out for help. Just trying to get their captors to come down and help their fallen comrade. They screamed at the top of their lungs hoping that someone would hear them.

* * *

Hey does anyone want to draw a picture for the cover of this story?


	14. Chapter 14

"Another prisoner camp?" Sherlock raised his brow as he read over Lestrade's shoulder. It had been surprisingly easy to teach Sherlock how to read since he already knew the alphabet; he just needed to learn what each letter looked like. It didn't take a week for him to be able to read just as well as he could braille. The problem came when he also had to learn how to write. It was an awkward way to use his hands and all of his words came out sloppy and barely legible. Lestrade had to correct the way he held his pencil several times before he finally got the hang of it and now had bad hand writing because he just didn't care to slow down enough to write neatly. This took about a month.

During this time, and the several months that followed, Sherlock climbed the ranks rather quickly. Whether it was due to Mycroft's influence or not, Sherlock didn't really care. The only thing that he cared about was that he was gaining more power in the military, which made it much easier to find John. And the fact that he easily surpassed the others, including Sally and Anderson, wasn't a bad thing in his mind either. He had climbed so high on the ranks that he was now just under Lestrade in his power.

"Would you stop doing that?" Lestrade rolled his eyes. Sherlock always snuck up on him while he was reading his mission reports. "Yes. It's another alleged prisoner camp."

Through the months that they served together in the army, their team had been sent to several alleged prisoner camps. When they got news about the very first camp, they had been excited and hopeful that they would find their lovers inside, but each time they got news of another one their excitement slowly faded until their was only a fleeting hope that maybe this time they would be there. Neither of them gave up hope, but they stopped getting their hopes up every time there was news.

"This is our last mission before our leave," Lestrade continued. "Hopefully we'll be able to take them home with us."

"If we find them," Sherlock replied. "I am retiring from the army."

"I don't really think that's possible Sherlock," Lestrade replied.

Sherlock only had to look at him to remind him that it was indeed possible when the Holmes's were concerned. Sherlock had long ago told him about his brother and Lestrade thought he had seen the man at work many times during his army career. He wouldn't be surprised if the over protective brother would take Sherlock out of the line of fire as soon as was possible.

"I think that I'll leave too," Lestrade sighed. He had actually spent enough time in the military that this leave was actually the end of his tour. The army would ask him if he wanted to continue serving in the army after and his answer would be dependent on whether or not they found their lovers at this camp. "Maybe I'll go back in Scotland Yard."

"You are a halfway decent cop," Sherlock agreed in his own version of a compliment.

* * *

The prisoner camp was an hour away on foot, but they walked it so that they wouldn't risk detection on their journey there. There weren't that many people at the actual camp. There was really just one run down building that looked like it had been their before the war and was just being used as a makeshift camp for those few who were there. It was relatively well hidden by the trees around it, though, so the soldiers didn't feel like they needed to do too much to keep a look out. The good thing about that was that there were plenty of blind spots that weren't being watched.

Lestrade commanded the group to surround the place and then, on his mark, they stormed in the two doors with guns blazing. There were only three soldiers inside, which Sherlock thought was weird. "It looks like this is just another bust," Lestrade sighed once all of the chaos had cleared. They got very few busts when they were given camps to raid, but those that they had received had been more disappointing than just not finding their lovers. There was one bust that had been the absolute worst. This one actually was a prisoner camp, but it had been abandoned for some time. The prisoners had been abandoned with it. There were no survivors. The only thing that made that sight even remotely okay was that neither Sherlock nor Lestrade found their lovers amongst the midst of it.

"Why are there only three men here?" Sherlock muttered loud enough for Lestrade to hear.

"They were probably just holding down the fort Sherlock," Lestrade explained. "They do that every now and again when they are waiting for a new team to come and take their place." With that, Lestrade turned to leave with the rest of the team and Sherlock began to follow only to stop dead in his tracks.

"Everybody stop!" he commanded of them. By now everyone was accustomed to Sherlock's weird commands so they immediately did as they were told, though they did make sure that they were on high alert.

"What's going on Sherlock?" Lestrade hissed quietly.

"Just shut up all of you," Sherlock growled. "Anderson go outside, your breathing is distracting me."

"My breathing is," Anderson said in an affronted tone.

"Oh just go outside," Lestrade commanded. The others didn't know that Sherlock had been blind, but they all knew that he had much more sensitive hearing than any of them. He could probably hear something that they couldn't even hope to hear.

Suddenly Sherlock dropped to his knees, pulled out his army knife, and began ripping at the carpet. There was probably some place where he could just pull it up without damaging the ugly thing, but he didn't really care to take the time to find it. After a short moment, he had carved out a square, which he pulled back to reveal a trap door. He stepped back with his gun trained at the door as Lestrade crouched ready to throw the thing open. "They're calling for help," Sherlock muttered.

Lestrade nodded before throwing the door open and pointing his gun down to join with Sherlock's. Suddenly everyone could hear the voices calling out for help. The best part was that they were speaking in English.

Lestrade was the first to creep down the stairs, followed by Sherlock and a few other members of the group while the others stayed at ground level as lookouts. Luckily, there was no sign of anymore of the enemy before they reached the metal door that was keeping the prisoners inside.

"It was a bomb shelter," Sherlock pointed out.

Lestrade chose to ignore him in favor of calling out to the prisoners. "We've come to get you out," he yelled through the door. On the other side, everything went silent except for one voice.

"Thank god," the voice said. "Please. We have a man down in here."

"We're opening the door now," Lestrade told them before he and a few other men pulled the thing open. Sherlock shown a flash light inside at all the prisoners while he kept his gun pointed towards the stairs for any unwanted guests.

"I'll go get the medic," Lestrade said before he quickly ran up the stairs.

Sherlock moved into the room with the rest of his men and started the evacuation process. Luckily, most of the soldiers were already well enough that they could get out of the room with little to no help. They wouldn't be able to traverse the hour-long path back to their own camp due to their lack of energy, but that was okay because they could call the cars in once that got to a place that they thought was relatively safe.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked the man crouching next to a rather sick looking soldier.

"He got shot in the shoulder," the man explained. "I think it's been infected."

"Here's the medic," Sherlock waved the man over. The medic had another man trailing behind him with the gurney and Sherlock knew that it would be needed.

"Let me take care of this one," the medic said as he crouched down next to the man and began performing all of the regular checks. "You go upstairs and get some water."

"With all due respect sir," the soldier replied. "The Doctor has been taking care of us all ever since he got here. There's no way I'm leaving him behind."

"Don't worry soldier," the medic said as he and his helper loaded the sick one onto the gurney and lifted him up. "We've got him."

The soldier only hesitated for a moment longer, enough time to allow the medic to carry the Doctor out in front of him, before he began the journey back into the light like all his fellow prisoners had. Sherlock only waited long enough to make one final check of the room before he too followed.

"Chris!" was the first thing that Sherlock heard when he was back on ground level. He almost winced at the loudness of it, but instead he whipped his head around to look at Lestrade who was staring at the man who had surfaced just before him.

"Greg?" Chris asked as his own eyes widened after adjusting to the light. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before Lestrade came back to himself and immediately walked right over to Chris to kiss him right on the lips. He didn't care that now the others would know that both he and Chris were gay. Chris would be honorably discharged and he wouldn't take another tour so he wouldn't have to worry about it anyway. The only thing that he cared about right now was that he had just found his lover. Nothing else mattered.


	15. Chapter 15

It was hours before Sherlock saw either Chris or Greg again. As soon as they arrived back at the camp, the two of them had slipped away to have some alone time. The soldiers both from the camp and the prison chose to ignore it because they both respected the two of them way too much to have their sexual preferences ruin it. The only ones who made any faces or comments were Sally and Anderson, but they were immediately shut down and have since been unable to speak about it.

Sherlock didn't really care. It was a lot harder than he thought it would be to see Lestrade with his lover when he still had yet to find his own. Instead, he took the time to walk around to all of the prisoners and ask them their names and whether or not they knew someone named John Watson. A few of them thought that the name sounded somewhat familiar, but none of them could place it. When Sherlock had gone through all of them, he was so frustrated that he would have gone straight back to his room where everyone would leave him alone to brood, but Lestrade just happened to interrupt him on his way.

"No luck?" Lestrade asked sympathetically with his hand still intertwined with Chris's.

"They're all idiots," Sherlock hissed. Lestrade didn't take any offense to it. He had gotten used to Sherlock's disappointed moods.

"Are you looking for someone?" Chris asked.

"Of course," Sherlock nodded.

"You could always ask the doctor," Chris replied. "He knows everyone's name who was in that prison."

"He's being prepped to be taken to the hospital as we speak," Sherlock waved it off, "and he hasn't woken up since we found him. He is utterly useless."

"I'll have you know that he is the only reason that any of us survived in that damn place," Chris growled.

"Don't worry about it," Lestrade gave a sympathetic smile. "That's just his personality."

"Well it really sucks," Chris mumbled.

"I don't care to make you like me," Sherlock responded. "The only reason that I am still standing here is because Lestrade is a somewhat good soldier and has earned my respect."

"That's right!" Lestrade said before there could be anymore of an argument between them. "I don't think that I've introduced you two. This is my boyfriend Chris."

"Obvious," Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically.

"And this is Sherlock," Lestrade continued as if he had never spoken.

"Sherlock?" Chris's eyes widened. "As in Sherlock Holmes the blind genius."

"You've heard of me?" Sherlock raised a brow.

"Oh god!" Chris gasped. "The Doctor!"

"What about him?" Lestrade asked.

"His name is John Watson!" Chris let out. The name was an easy one to forget, but it was also an easy one to remember when the proper incentive is brought up. Sherlock's appearance was all Chris needed to jog his memory about the man that saved his and so many other men's lives.

Chris hadn't even finished speaking before Sherlock was off running towards where he knew the medical tent was. John was there. His John was in need of emergency medical attention, but he was still alive and he was just within Sherlock's reach.

He tried to recall the face of the Doctor that he had seen lying next to Chris, but it had been too dark and he wasn't able to find any discernable features. His face just blended with the so many others that he had saved or had seen dead. He had to get to the medical tent and finally see his John for the first time.

But when he got there, the only ones who still remained inside were the nurses.

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded of a particularly nervous looking nurse.

"Who?" she asked.

"John!" Sherlock yelled exasperatedly. "Where is he?"

"You mean the John Doe?" she asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded anyway. They weren't able to find any sort of identification on him that told them what the Doctor's name was since he had given his dog tags to Sherlock so they called him John Doe. It was stupid, Sherlock thought, that they would come up with such a name for those that were nameless. After all, John was such a special name to him that he didn't think that anyone else deserved it. Yet, he knew that John would willingly give it to anyone else who asked of it from him because John was just a generous man like that.

"He's already been shipped off," she said with a sympathetic look.

"What?" Sherlock could feel all of his previous excitement at seeing John slip away from him in an instant as the nurse's words left her lips. "Where?"

"I don't know," she said. "They're just going to take him to whatever hospital has room for him."

"Damn it!" Sherlock screamed. He knocked over a gurney and threw a few things of equipment around before someone was able to get ahold of him.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade struggled to hold Sherlock still, but he had always been the stronger of the two so he was able to manage it after a moment. "Sherlock stop!"

Sherlock almost immediately deflated. He had missed his chance to see John. "I missed him," he muttered almost disbelievingly.

"Sherlock listen," Lestrade said soothingly in his ear because Sherlock was still making halfhearted struggles to escape from him. "At least you know that he's no longer out in the field. He'll be in a hospital somewhere, in good hands, and now all's we have to do is find him."

"We?" Sherlock looked up at him and Lestrade couldn't help but compare the look to that of a small child who is hoping for something that they don't believe they can have.

"Of course," Lestrade nodded. "Me and Chris will help you find him."

"Chris and I," Sherlock sighed. It was one of those annoying corrections that Sherlock always did for him that he absolutely hated, but he could see the ulterior meaning behind it. Sherlock was thanking him.

"Sherlock?" Chris asked after the man had calmed down enough for Lestrade to let him go.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"I promised John that if I saw you before he did, I would tell you that he says he loves you."

Sherlock's grin gave them hope. They would find John and everything would be okay in the end.


	16. Chapter 16

The med evac plane was filled with the men from the camps that they had raided recently and several injured men from other camps as well. So much so that they had to have a few volunteers, or people who were in pretty good shape, stay behind. Chris was one of those volunteers. He didn't really mind. He wanted to hitch a ride with Lestrade on the way back anyway. It would be harder to find the man if he was sent home alone because they had told each other the area where they lived, but that did little in their big London city. Not to mention the fact that he felt obligated to be there for Sherlock since John wasn't able to. The doctor had done so much for him so this was the least he could do.

Sherlock was not happy, though. He would have much rather hitched a ride on the med evac plane. The sooner he got home. The sooner he could start his search for John anew. He had even already written a letter to his brother saying that he would not be coming back to the army after this tour. They wouldn't let him on the plane, of course. He was in perfectly good health so he had to wait, very impatiently mind you, for his tour to finally be over.

Finally, _finally, _the day came. Everybody filed into the plane with relieved sighs as they knew that it was finally going to take them home to their love ones. Some of them would be going home forever, surviving the war, and some of them would be returning for another tour later, but for now they all just wanted to get out of there.

"Ready to go Sherlock?" Lestrade asked from his seat next to Chris.

"I've been ready," Sherlock growled distractedly. "Why haven't we taken off yet?"

"Relax," Lestrade rolled his eyes. "We'll be taking off soon. They just have to do all the regular mechanical checks first."

"I don't care about that stuff," Sherlock hissed. "I just want to find him."

"You'd better care about that stuff," Lestrade responded. "If they don't check the plane before we take off, we might crash and you'll die before you ever get to see John again."

Sherlock was silent about that. He guessed that it was a good point, but he would never admit it to Lestrade. The man was relatively smart, but he always liked to brag when he got something right that Sherlock got wrong. It annoyed him to no end.

* * *

"Oh Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson came immediately to the door with a smile. She tried to discreetly look around to see if John was there too, but Sherlock had been getting much better as his deductions by sight. He noticed before she even greeted him that she was hoping that he brought John home.

"There's nobody there," he said even though she was now looking at him. Despite his promise, he had come home alone. Not even Chris and Lestrade accompanied them since they both kind of wanted to spend some time alone off the battlefield, but they had promised to come by tomorrow so that he could start his search anew.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson frowned as she tried to hold back tears for her boys.

"But I found him," Sherlock continued.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened. She almost couldn't believe it. It was so seldom that those sorts of happy endings happened. She wanted so badly to ask a different question, though. She wanted to know where John was.

"I found him," Sherlock frowned and Mrs. Hudson knew that that couldn't be a good sign.

"What's wrong dearie?" she asked as she led him to the couch in her apartment. She got up to start the kettle before he responded.

"I didn't know it was him," Sherlock sighed. "I didn't know it was him until it was too late. I went looking for him, but they had already taken him away?"

"They?" Mrs. Hudson feared the worse. Did the enemy capture him again? No, that couldn't be the case because Sherlock would still be on the battlefield despite his leave if that were the case.

"He was really badly injured," Sherlock continued. "It got infected. They had to send him to a hospital."

"But surely that makes it easier," Mrs. Hudson tried to console him. "At least you know he's safe and sound back here."

"But I don't know that," Sherlock shook his head. "He wasn't wearing his dog tags. I have them. They sent him out as a John Doe. I don't know where he is."

"We'll find him Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said soothingly. By God, if she had to walk throughout all of London just to find John she would do it for her boys. And if she couldn't do that, she would get those loathsome things called wheelchairs.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock sighed.

"Now you get some sleep dearie," she said. He looked exhausted and she really couldn't blame him for that. "We'll set out tomorrow."

It was a sign of how tired he truly was when he just let her lay him down on her couch and then immediately closed his eyes to drift off to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

"Another John Doe?" the doctor asked.

"His dog tags are missing," the nurse nodded.

"Very well," the doctor sighed. "Put him with the rest of them."

The nurse nodded and continued the journey that the doctor had distracted her from. They had several rooms filled with John Does and now they were going to add this young man to the mix.

* * *

I know that these were both really short in-between chapters, but that's kind of why I posted them both at the same time. I hope you liked them.


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